(In honour of the 70th anniversary of D-Day, in honour of the Normandy Veterans Association who will after this year, only make personal pilgramages.)

Brave old man stood bent, grizzled, greyed and scarred. One of a few. For a small amount left. A merlin engine roars in the sky; a pair zipping across in liveries of old. The old, the new. The spit and the typhoon. The lanc, the liveries- the fresh with the bold. A bugle sounds. A bulls-eye on a field of dark English green. A pair of wings that shine in the bright June sun. A tear, a memory, the shadows of the past at parade rest with the standards of those present.

Prayers, pleas, a drum head on the green. Heads bowed in silence. Names and faces silently remembered. They stand, shadows with those still present.Praise given where it is more than due. The pain of pride, the tears of thanks that fall. The sadness, bittersweet memories. Joyous reunions of aeons past.

A gun salute. Billows of smoke. A spectacular sight of man and machine. An old man stands, a cane in his hand, maroon beret on a snow filled head.Wings on his chest, a bar of colours hard fought and hard won. Stands in a field of white crosses.

The gratitude of a nation is never enough; Lest we should forget.

D-DAY June 6th. 1944.

For my great uncle Chris Nunn – (Juno) When asked, he would only ever say "I was the man that screamed “give them hell lads” til he was hoarse."